


Frivolity

by Practicefortheheart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3558179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Practicefortheheart/pseuds/Practicefortheheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looked at Sherlock’s face, innocent and soft while he slept, and suddenly saw the opportunity for what it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frivolity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deduce-my-heart (linds7)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linds7/gifts).



> Filled in this prompt for [deduce-my-heart](http://deduce-my-heart.tumblr.com/): Sherlock asleep on the couch with doodles on his face cause John was feeling ornery
> 
> It was supossed to be a drabble, but it got a little out of hand...
> 
> I hope you like it!
> 
> Big thanks and hugs and kisses for [Felicia](http://loveanddeathandartandtaxes.tumblr.com/) for beta duties <3

It had been a nice case, nothing too complicated. After all the drama they had been through, it was great to have a classic puzzle like this again, where they could fall back into their old routine. Sherlock was always at least two steps ahead of everyone else, with John blindly following him and ready to throw both compliments and punches as needed. The case involved a good long chase across London and Sherlock crawling through a window and getting his hand cut on a shard of glass. It ended with Sherlock smugly spewing deductions and explaining details to John (and Greg who had turned up eventually) while John had the suspect pinned to the floor.

They went back to 221B, giddy and high on adrenalin, where John checked the cut on Sherlock’s arm while waiting for the takeaway.

“It’s fine, John,” Sherlock had waved him away. “Just a scratch.”

They settled in their chairs to eat, containers of fried rice and lemon chicken and roasted duck on the floor between them. Sherlock absolutely inhaled his food, clearing his plate three times before he put it aside. John watched with amusement. After dinner, they’d poured out some Scotch - it felt like that kind of night - and John asked Sherlock to go over the details of the case again, so he could start writing it up in the morning. It felt like home.

Now Sherlock was draped in an inelegant heap on the couch, letting his body repair the damage of a couple days without sleep or food, and he was dead to the world. It wasn’t an unusual sight after they’d finished up a case. Tomorrow they were expected at The Yard to give statements and what not, but this evening had been theirs to celebrate.

John thought about how Sherlock’s life was before he had come along. Sherlock never talked about it, but he knew he never had a friend like him before, one that helped him on cases and stayed after the deductions were explained. The thought of Sherlock eating alone in his flat after he solved a case made him feel strangely emotional.

He’d probably never had done any of the stupid things boys did at school, or in college. Get drunk together, playing stupid pranks… He looked at Sherlock’s face, innocent and soft while he slept, and suddenly saw the opportunity for what it was. They had done a lot of things together that were normal for most mates, but new to Sherlock. Why not expand his experience some more?

***

Sherlock opened his eyes and took a minute to figure himself out. The light filtering through the curtains told him it was around 9am. A decent night’s sleep, then, despite it being spent on the sofa instead of his bed. He carefully sat up, stretched and dragged a hand through his hair. He noticed the blanket covering him, and smiled at it. Thoughtful John. Despite the fact that sleep was largely a waste of time, he couldn’t deny he felt clearer and refreshed.

Right when he started to make tea, he heard John stumbling down the stairs. He walked into the kitchen and looked around blearily. It always took John a bit longer to recover from a case. It was quite endearing, actually. It was fine, John looked relaxed, and he didn’t mind holding on to the easy domesticity that marked their lives between cases now. It wouldn’t be long before he longed for a good mystery again, but the times in between were less agonising than they used to be. John was back home, and even though there we still a lot of things unsaid between them, he felt he already got more than he deserved and he was happy with how things were - even though Mycroft took every opportunity to rub it in his face.

“Morning, John,” Sherlock said briskly, getting his mind back on track. “Tea?” John nodded and suddenly froze in the middle of the kitchen, staring at Sherlock. “Are you alright?” Sherlock inquired. “You’re not hurt, are you?” It would be typical for John to take care of others and minimise his own wounds. John cleared his throat and sat down.

“No, it’s nothing, but I’d like some tea, please.” He smiled up at Sherlock. “Oh, right, we better get to the Yard for our statements!” He stood up again. John then proceeded to stuff some slices of bread in the toaster, drink the tea and get dressed in record time. He was still eating his toast when he bundled Sherlock in his Belstaff and down the stairs to the front door.

Sherlock hated to go in for paperwork, but on the other hand he loved the opportunity to gloat and show the incompetent idiots of the Met how it’s supposed to be done - so generally he didn’t make a fuss about it. John certainly seemed eager to get it over with, and the sooner it was done, the sooner they could go back home and watch crap telly or check their inbox for a new case.

When they walked into the Scotland Yard  building, he started to notice something was off. He was used to people staring and throwing him funny looks, but it seemed to be more intense than usual. John was still walking right next to him though, so he deleted the others as was his usual way of dealing with their nonsense. Lestrade was sorting out papers when they arrived at his office and Sherlock was already bored out of his mind before he could take a seat. He’d rather start on that experiment he had wanted to do for some time now, and he better do it before John found out he had a jar of maggots stashed in a cupboard. He let his mind wander for a bit, until he noticed Lestrade’s hands had stopped rummaging through the piles of paperwork and looked up to see him staring at John. Then he suddenly came back to life, cruising through their statements and wishing John luck before sending them away again.

“Why did he wish you luck? You don’t have a date, do you?” he asked John, crossing the open office space to the lifts. John hadn’t been dating since the whole affair with Mary, but he was feeling better lately, so it was a possibility. Sherlock was prepared for it, but still the idea left him in a state of panic. John opened his mouth to answer, but then Donovan distracted them by tripping over a desk chair, sending manilla envelopes and papers flying and landing with her head in a paper bin.

“Morning, Sally”, Sherlock addressed the soles of her shoes. She spluttered weakly, trying to get back on her feet.

“Alright, John, you should probably explain to me why everyone’s been acting extra foolish today.” Sherlock said while they stepped into the lift. John looked a little guilty, but also a little smug. He grabbed Sherlock by his shoulders and turned him towards the mirrored wall.

“I’d thought you’d deduce it before we left the flat, but I guess the Scotch got to you a little.”

Sherlock looked at his reflection. On his forehead John had written ‘consulting idiot’. He had also drawn stripes on his cheeks, representing whiskers, and coloured the tip of his nose. John had dissolved in silent giggles next to him.

“The look on your face!” he managed between hiccupping laughs. “Oh this is so worth it!”

“Worth what?” Sherlock snapped. He was suddenly reminded of Sebastian and his friends, laughing at his expense until he had shut them up one by one by deducing all their dirty little secrets out loud in a full lecture hall. But John was not like Sebastian, not at all. John was still next to him, trying to catch his breath.

“Well, I assume you’ll plot your revenge, that’s usually how these things go. Bobby once filled my dorm room with cups of water, but then I wrapped all his stuff in aluminium foil, and then he…what?” Sherlock was looking at him incredulously. John really should know that Sherlock didn’t care one iota about boys called Bobby. Unless he was murdered in an interesting way. John sighed.

“Look, Sherlock, I was just...trying to have some fun. I know you’ve probably never done anything like this in school and it seemed like a great idea last night. I’m sorry. The Scotch got to me as well, I guess.  It’ll wash right off, though, I didn’t use permanent marker.”

Although Sherlock was oddly touched, he still huffed and sulked all the way back to 221B, where he dropped on the sofa and ignored John, thinking about several ways he could put the maggots to use in combination with John’s sock drawer. When John brought him a cup of tea in a clear attempt to pacify him, he softened a bit.

“I’m not like your school friends, John. I don’t understand the need for this idiocy.” He sipped from his cup. “What’s the purpose of it? We’re already friends and we already have a...bond, we don’t need this.”

“I know you’re not like them. I don’t want you to be like them. You’re brilliant the way you are. I was just being an idiot.” John patted Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock looked up at him. John looked a bit awkward, clearly afraid of having pushed him too far.

“Well, that’s nothing new. I did enjoy Donovan’s meeting with the floor,” he conceded.

John chuckled. “Oh, you are a bad man, Sherlock. Let’s get that face cleaned up, yeah? I’ll get a cloth.”

John settled himself on the coffee table in front of Sherlock, a bowl of water with some of Sherlock’s expensive facial soap and a flannel next to him.  He started wiping the damp cloth over Sherlock’s cheekbone. Despite John patching him up every other case, his touch was always a little shock for Sherlock. He tried not to flinch.

“Even aside from this...stunt, I did have fun last night.” John said, carefully avoiding to look at Sherlock’s eyes. He cleared his throat. “I mean…”

“I know what you mean,” Sherlock interrupted. “It was a good night.”

John smiled at his hands, now moving to clean the other cheek.  Sherlock let his mouth quirk up in a silent reply. “I should have expected this, you quite like childish games, as I recall.”

***

John felt his face heat up, the memories of his stag night flooding back. He hadn’t realised what it all had meant, not until Sherlock’s speech, and by then he had made his choice. John wasn’t someone to go back on his steps. When Sherlock was gone, he had mourned him, and the feelings he’d never expressed. Mary had come out of nowhere, a light in the darkness. And then the stupid git had come back, and it all went tits-up. But despite his confusion, he had made a promise, and he had intended to keep it. Of course, when Mary didn’t turn out to be who he thought she was, that changed everything. Between him and Mary, anyway.

He still felt unsure about Sherlock, worried about reading him the wrong way. But now being together was easy again. Effortless. They had fun together, both during cases and in between. He thought about losing Sherlock again, and still not having said all the things he had kept to himself for so long. Maybe it was worth the risk.

“John?” Sherlock looked at him questioningly, a little crease between his brows. John’s hand was hovering between the bowl and Sherlock, and the cloth had been dripping on his jeans. Right. He cleared his throat again.

“I’m fine, sorry.” He gently pushed back the curls from Sherlock's forehead to scrub at the words there.  The ringlets curled around his fingers and he thought about how right it felt to have his hand in Sherlock’s hair. His mouth went dry. He felt his heart hammering and there was a sudden sense of alarm. Any second now, Sherlock would notice what he was thinking about, how he felt, and there would be no way back. He shut his eyes, willing his body to calm down again, when he felt long fingers close around his wrist.

“John, look at me,” Sherlock’s voice sounded deep and gravelly. “Please.”

John opened his eyes, and they immediately locked onto Sherlock’s bright gaze. Suddenly John felt like he was back at their first case, watching Sherlock study the pill and feeling the jolt of panic before shooting the cabbie. He was back at Barts, the moment he realised Sherlock was going to jump. The moment Sherlock collapsed in his chair, grunting John’s name after offering to help Mary. Their goodbye at the airstrip before Sherlock would leave for his final mission. The things he didn’t say, but always meant to. All the things they both had never said. It was absolutely worth the risk.

The cloth fell on the floor between them with a wet plop as they both surged forward and pressed their mouths together. John’s hand tightened in Sherlock’s hair while his other hand moved to cup his jaw. He pulled back a little and the dazed look on Sherlock’s face ignited a flame in his chest and he was overcome with a bright wave of happiness. Sherlock smiled at him, looking as if John was an unsolvable puzzle. John pulled him back in, using his hand to angle Sherlock’s face a little and brushed their lips together again slowly. It was clear Sherlock didn’t have a lot of experience with this, and he felt a little thrill go up his spine at the thought of it being Sherlock’s first proper kiss. Sherlock’s lips were dry and warm. John nipped at the plush bottom lip, tasting coffee and sugar, and felt Sherlock shiver under his hands. He smiled against his mouth, now catching Sherlock’s upper lip between his and flicking his tongue against it. Sherlock gasped, but John just continued lightly licking his lips, and it didn’t take long before Sherlock began copying him hesitantly, softly biting and tasting John and his hands came up to cradle John’s face, keeping them close together.

He pressed his forehead against John’s, breathing hard and shallow.

“John, I…” He fell silent, apparently lost for words.

John caressed a sharp cheekbone with his thumb.

“This alright?” he asked gently. Sherlock nodded. “We’ll talk later,” he smiled, while drawing him back in for another kiss.

***

 

Later, when the first shock had died down, and Sherlock had a lot more data about kissing and more specifically _kissing John_ to store away in his mind palace, John had decided to take Sherlock out to dinner at Angelo’s. He wanted them to have a fresh start, and at this point Sherlock couldn’t deny John anything at all. When they’d untangled themselves and went to grab their coats, Sherlock caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror over the mantle. His hair was a wild tumble of curls, his lips were pink and slightly swollen, his cheeks rosy and on his forehead still the word ‘idiot’. He grinned at his reflection and followed John down the stairs.

 


End file.
